


When Everyone Knows Your Name

by starscrearn



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, Loneliness, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, mild spoilers for MTMTE #48, swerve does his best to be a support system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-05-05 03:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14607867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starscrearn/pseuds/starscrearn
Summary: Dealing with the aftermath of Froid's visit to the Lost Light left Rung more isolated-- and vulnerable-- than ever.And then someone decided to share that turmoil with the rest of the ship.





	1. Chapter 1

Rung sighed and slotted another pair of pieces together, pressing down until he was sure the glue had taken. He readjusted the enhancement of the lense clipped on over his glasses, sighed again when the correction didn’t improve the focus, and removed the whole apparatus to rub a tired hand over his face. After a moment he detached the magnifier and slid his glasses back into place, tossing the lense into a drawer. His optical input was still rendering a little fuzzy, but at least with the magnifier gone, the pounding in his processor went down to a dull ache. He slumped back in his chair, considering the mess of parts in front of him. They were beginning to swim irritatingly, pieces slipping in and out of focus the longer he looked at them. Now that he was no longer hunched over his desk, a stiffness crept up his struts, settling into his shoulders and threatening to curl him over again.

He knew exactly what was wrong with him: he was overtired, overstressed, and both overworked and completely out of work. He leaned forward, flipped the half-finished model over, and went back to work on the base. Keeping his hands busy wouldn’t get rid of that line of thought, but it was worth a shot.

He fished another part out of the pile on his desk. It creaked threateningly between his fingers and he dropped it in surprise. It clattered onto his desk; the impact widened the hairline fracture his tight grip had created in the slender piece. Rung stared at it for a long moment, optics clicking wide in shock when his vision blurred again, this time with beads of optical cleanser. Hands shaking, he brushed the remaining parts back into their box and pushed away from his desk, hit with the sudden desire to be anywhere but his office.

If he could even call it that anymore.

The idle thought had him carelessly tossing the box down and rushing for the door, almost ramming it open in his eagerness to escape. For a swift, giddy moment, he considered the possibility that someone might be out in the hall. Rationality took over as his hand left the door. The hallway was predictably empty; bots rarely visited that part of the ship without an appointment or the intention of sneaking around without being seen.

Rung sighed, palmed off the lights, and left. The co-captains still hadn’t requested that he vacate the space, despite the fact that it was no longer in use as a psychiatrist’s office. If he was being honest with himself, he doubted they’d even discussed it. Cruelty in kindness, he supposed; better to let a defunct member of the crew stay where he was than try to figure out where else to put him.

The door panel beeped behind him, indicating that the room had locked itself, and he spared it a brief glance. It would be easy enough to change the access codes on it and forget them, to lock himself out permanently, and he almost did it. Instead he turned his back on the panel and forced himself to walk away, berating himself for being irrational. He headed for the more lively parts of the ship; it would do him good to at least be around other bots, even if he intended to speak to none of them.

After a while, Rung found himself outside of Swerve’s. The bar was even busier than usual, full of bots on their off-shifts (and probably a handful that should have been somewhere else), and the resulting light and noise spilled out into the hallway. 

Ten greeted him as he passed, with a nod and an almost excited “Ten!”

Surprised as he was, Rung took a microsecond too long to reply, but he managed a smile. “Evening, Ten. How are you?”

The former Legislator gave him the usual response (“Ten.”), though he sounded happy enough about it, and waved him through. The little mech made his way through the crowd, heading for a relatively quiet booth in the corner, but it wasn’t long before someone else made a grab for his attention.

“Hey, Rung!”

He jumped, plating slicking down just a little too tight to his protoform, and he vented harshly, forcing his plating back out. It was just Swerve. Rung glanced up and found the bartender waving him over.

“You’re early,” the minibot remarked when he got closer. “The psych symposium’s not until next week!” He grinned. “Seriously though, didn’t think this was your kind of crowd. It’s been a while since you’ve been here. I’m surprised you still remember where the place is!”

Suddenly exhausted, Rung leaned against the lowered section of the bar, shoulders slumping. “Yes, well, I… have a bit more free time on my hands these days.”

Swerve shook his head, quieting. “Yeah… I’m really sorry that happened, by the way. You’re a damn good doctor, doesn’t matter what anyone says.”

His mouth twisted into something approaching a cruel smile, directed at himself. “Not anymore, Swerve.” His gaze dropped to Swerve’s hands as he quietly reset his vocalizer. “And how are you doing? Is the, ah, recovery going alright?”

The bartender shrugged, rubbing at his shoulder. “Yeah, my arm’s back to normal, Lottie’s good at her job. And Skids has been really supportive, so… yeah, I’m doing okay.”

They fell into an awkward silence for a moment. Swerve seemed to have lost his glossa and Rung couldn’t force a single remark to mind that fit the situation. He wanted to reassure the bot, offer him a few words of comfort, but he knew it wouldn’t sound genuine. Mercifully, Swerve was called away, but just as Rung decided to slip off, the minibot returned and pushed a glass of something at him.

“Seriously, Rung,” he started. “You ever want to y’know,  _ talk, _ about anything, you know where to find me.” Swerve tapped the glass, scooting it closer to him. “And this is on the house.”

The little mech nodded, murmured his thanks, and retreated to a quiet corner, away from the clusters of bots nearer to the center of the room. He claimed a small empty table, slipped in, and slumped down against the booth. He’d spoken to exactly two bots, and with one of them for less than a minute, but he was as exhausted as if he’d worked a full shift of appointments with difficult patients.

Rung opted for the drink instead of further reflection, shutting down his FIM chip for the night. It was mildly sweet, partially masking the bite of the engex that was a touch stronger than he would normally have requested. Exactly what his current mood thought it required. He took a moment to marvel at the skill Swerve displayed in his chosen profession; he certainly hadn’t been wasted as a metallurgist, but this was on a completely different level.

More unwanted thoughts arose and he resolutely drowned them with more engex.

Towards the front of the bar, a chorus of greetings and more than one toast heralded Skids’s arrival. Rung dragged his gaze up, a soft smile flitting across his face at the sight that greeted him. Skids looked tired but pleased enough to be there, and Rung was hit with a rush of relief that the theoretician was out and about again. It was good sign, and one that hopefully meant he was dealing with what Froid and Sunder had done to him. Skids made his way across the bar much slower than Rung had, pausing to greet the numerous bots that called out to him. He sank onto a barstool and someone-- Rung was fairly sure it was Nightbeat, but at that angle he didn’t have a clear view-- clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small, friendly shake. 

The bitterness that curled around his spark had even less to do with the engex than the angry blush sprawling under his facial plating did, and Rung berated himself for the inappropriate reaction. The camaraderie was no less than Skids deserved, especially after what he’d been through.

_ What about after what you’ve been through? _ an unpleasant line of code questioned. Rung returned to his drink with a vengeance and condemned the thought to the pit, along with the tightness in his spark. Neither actually left, though the engex successfully muddled them.

He propped his chin on his hand and dragged his gaze away from Skids and the cluster of bots around him, regretting his choice to come. A little ways away, a shanix card changed hands as Jackpot lost the bet he’d placed against Chromedome in their game of ‘guess the transformation,’ and judging by his cross expression, he’d lost the last few bets too. Rewind’s camera light glinted off someone’s plating as he filmed his conjunx with a contented look on his faceplates. A moment later, something drew the archivist’s attention and he glanced up, away from Chromedome, who’d put on a ridiculous show of concentration for his conjunx’s benefit. Rung lowered his helm and went back to his drink; he knew Rewind wasn’t looking at him, but still, the last thing he wanted to do was make anyone uncomfortable. 

Past them, Whirl dragged someone into a headlock, banging a claw against the bot’s chest; the bot staggered and grabbed for the copter’s waist to keep himself upright. They were both singing, loudly and slightly off-key, and the bot didn’t seem particularly displeased to be tucked up against Whirl. As Rung listened, several more bots joined in, forming an inebriated, but not unpleasant, chorus. The final strains of “Lonely Cybertronian” faded out as the group picked up another tune. Rung found it a little too apt and sought out a bit of solace from his glass. 

A cheer from the opposite side of the bar caught his attention as Perceptor caught a glass Brainstorm had elbowed off the table. He set it back down without acknowledging the yelling and went right back to debating a point with Nautica and Brainstorm. Their table was covered in datapads and Nautica had her wrench propped up in the chair next to her. A minute later, Nightbeat stopped by and the group easily shifted aside to make room for him to join them. Nautica smiled at the newcomer, and Rung looked back towards the singers, ignoring the tightness in his chest and loosening the knots forming in his tank with more engex.

Off to the side, Tailgate had convinced Cyclonus to share a drink with him, the two straws sticking out of the glass a testament to the progress they’d made. The minibot was snuggled up comfortably against the horned mech’s side, and the arm around him seemed natural and fitting. Cyclonus looked as though he rather wanted to go break up the singalong-- the lyrics had abruptly become fairly crude as the singers forgot the words-- but a little tug from Tailgate convinced him to stay down. The jet settled back into his seat, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a rough smile as he glanced down at the minibot.

Rung’s spark lightened at the sight, but he still pulled his glass back towards him, wondering when it had become mostly empty instead of mostly full. A mech he didn’t know broke away from the group in the center of the room; he thought nothing of it until a sudden voice startled him out of his brooding.

“Rung, right?” The mech smiled. “Mind if I join you?”

His glasses slid down as his helm jerked up, and his first close look at the mech was a blurry one as he peered out over the lenses. “Yes-- sorry?”

The smile didn’t fade as the mech gestured to the seat opposite Rung. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not-- not at all, be my guest.” 

The mech set his own drink down and slipped into the vacant seat. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, but… could I tell you a secret?”

Rung’s spark sank. Why had he expected any different? News of his resignation must not have spread to the whole of the ship. Even so, he couldn’t just turn the mech away. “Yes, of course.”

“I noticed you a while back, and… this is going to sound silly. Promise not to laugh?”

He nodded warily. “I won’t laugh.”

“Okay… I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to come over and talk to you ever since. Silly, right? I mean, yeah, you’re the cutest mech in the place, but it’s one conversation, right?”

Suddenly it wasn’t just the engex warming his lines. Rung heard his fans quietly click on and didn’t bother trying to override them. 

The mech continued, apparently oblivious. “I kept asking myself, ‘how hard can it be?’ So…” He shrugged, grinning nervously. “Here I am. Could I buy you another drink, and we could maybe get to know each other a little better?”

Rung found himself lost for words and only managed to stammer out, “I, um… I-- I’d like that.”

The mech flagged down one of the serving droids and keyed in an order. “Something mild?”

He nodded, still in something of a daze. Even if this was some sort of extremely poor joke, he’d at least get a drink out of it-- and chalk the whole night up to a mistake.

He tapped a final key and the droid trundled away to have the order filled. “You build models, right? I remember you used to bring one with you-- wasn’t it an Ark?”

His spark should not have leapt like that at such a simple thing, he was sure. “The Ark-3, yes. I’m surprised you noticed.”

“It was your hands,” the mech replied. “They were so careful, so gentle… they were what first caught my interest. Why did you stop bringing the models?”

“Ah…” His fans clicked to a higher setting and he fiddled with his glass for lack of a better distraction from the way the mech looked at him, like he was actually seeing him and not looking right through him. “It’s not easy to work on something like that in the middle of a bar. Most of them were too delicate, and the pieces can be easy to lose. But I--” His face creased in a pained, self-deprecating smile. “Well, I’m sure you don’t want to hear me droning on about this. Most find it a rather… boring topic.”

The mech brushed his fingers over Rung’s, and when the little bot didn’t pull away, he settled his hand, taking Rung’s fingers into his own and threading them together. His thumb rubbed over a joint. “I don’t think so. There’s nothing boring about a hobby you can take pride in. How long have you been building them?”

“I…” Frowning, Rung trailed off, distracted by the gentle fingers against his hand. “You know, I’m not sure. But probably longer than I’d care to admit.”

“Just Arks?” 

“No, mostly just ships I’ve served on.” 

He forced his vents to slow, making them deep and controlled. Controlling  _ himself. _ This was the lead-in to the part where the mech brought up the Fateful Archetype, asked about his history. Wanted to know about the Tribunal, about Froid. The  _ interesting _ things.

But the mech ignored the opportunity. “The one I saw was so intricate-- are they all like that?”

Rung released a quiet vent in relief. “They tend to be, yes. The more complicated ones take a while to construct, but they keep me busier for longer, so I can’t complain.”

“Okay. I know picking favorites is bad and all, but…” The mech grinned conspiratorially. “Which one’s your favorite?”

“Well…”

=========

It felt like they talked for hours, but a glance at his chrono told Rung it hadn’t even been one. The mech kept asking questions, letting him speak and actually listening, acting like he truly  _ cared _ about the answers. He was extraordinarily easy to talk to, and despite himself, Rung found himself actually opening up to the mech, speaking his mind instead of relegating himself to the role of advisor or therapist. It was odd, to say the least, but… not entirely unpleasant. He was smiling by the end of it, a bright, genuine smile for which the mech had complimented him profusely. 

That had been another constant-- the flirting. The mech was persistent, but not unpleasantly so; he was genuine instead of pushy. And no matter how often Rung tried to remind himself that this certainly wouldn’t last, the mech seemed to choose that exact moment for another question or compliment. Eventually, he simply let himself enjoy the attention.

Rung couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this relaxed.

Then the mech paused and flicked his glossa across his lip, almost smirking when he noticed Rung looking. He leaned across the small table and trailed a finger up the side of the little bot’s neck, causing little frissons in his tacnet. Rung tipped his helm, wordlessly encouraging the mech.

“What do you say…” He tapped at the general region of the psychiatrist’s FIM chip. “We get out of here, huh? Head back to your hab?”

Rung hesitated only a moment before clicking his FIM chip back on. A delicate shudder twisted up his spinal strut as the coding took hold, already beginning to purge the effects of the engex from his systems. “W-well, it’s a bit of a mess. I don’t have many visitors…”

The sentence died as the mech stroked a thumb over his neck cables; he let out a soft, relaxed trill as his optics dropped offline.

“I promise not to judge,” the mech murmured, pulling his fingers away. Without thinking, Rung desperately pushed himself up against the table and leaned forward in search of them. 

The mech chuckled, rewarding his persistence with another gentle brush, a little tickle of pressure that had his spark doing flips. “Well?”

He nodded. The mech smirked, slow and lazy, and dropped a shanix card onto the table to cover the drinks. 

“Don’t worry, Rung. I’m gonna show you a  _ great _ time.”

He led the little bot out by the hand, easily creating a path for them through the bar. No one remarked on their exit. Rung’s habsuite was far enough from the bar that by the time they arrived, the haze of the engex had fully cleared, leaving him hesitating in front of his door panel and wondering if this was really the best idea.

The mech rested a hand on his shoulder and leaned down to nuzzle against the side of his helm. “Still want to do this?”

Rung keyed in his access code with steady hands. “Absolutely.”

When the door clicked open, the mech swept him up into his arms in one fluid motion, settling him against his chest. Rung found himself momentarily entranced by the bot’s odd silvery optics and before he’d quite processed it, the mech was kissing him, sweetly and gently. His spark flared in its casing, glinting off the mech’s chest and washing out his paint. The mech stepped into the room and let the door shut behind them, murmuring sweet nothings against Rung’s mouth. It took them a long while to reach the berth-- the mech kept pausing, intent on kissing him absolutely senseless and leaving the little bot dizzy with pleasure-- and Rung half expected to be dropped onto it. 

Instead the mech gently laid him down like he was the most precious thing in the universe and knelt between his thighs, hands resting on his knees and rubbing carefully over his plating.

“Ready?”

With a quiet sigh, Rung nodded and let his panels retract. “Mhmm.”

The mech smiled and dipped his helm.

=========

Rung emerged from recharge the next morning comfortable and content, with a pleasurable almost-soreness in his array. He rolled over and tossed an arm out with a sleepy hum, searching for his partner. He found nothing.

The little mech shot upright, blankets falling away from his frame. Their removal only added to the chill in his lines. He cast about with growing desperation, finally lighting upon a small datapad that wasn’t his on the side table. He grabbed for it and switched it on, panic mounting nearly to the point of tears.

_ Had fun last night, _ the message read.  _ Hope to see you again. xx _

All-encompassing relief crashed through him as Rung slumped back against the berth, clutching the datapad to his chest with a giddy smile. Of course-- the mech had probably only had a shift. He hadn’t forgotten about him. He read the note over again, letting the simple message warm his lines and set his spark fluttering. Despite everything, he found himself entertaining the possibility of actually letting this become a regular occurrence. He had to admit, it was…  _ nice, _ waking up to the knowledge that someone was thinking about him. 

Rung turned over and tugged the blankets back up, still cradling the datapad against his chest. He didn’t have to work. He could afford to sleep a little longer.

=========

Rung talked himself into returning to Swerve’s a few days later, in hopes of running into the mech again. He’d forgotten to get his frequency-- and more embarrassingly, his  _ name-- _ and he was eager to correct the oversight. Ten met him with the usual greeting at the door, but it was the reaction from the patrons that caught the little mech off-guard.

The bar started to go quiet as he entered, the usual chatter dying down as he passed and spreading out from there. More than one bot surreptitiously checked a datapad they held poorly concealed under a table or behind someone’s back.

There was a quiet clatter as someone near the door dropped something. _ “Vaulted Heights--” _

“No  _ way,” _ someone else muttered.

Suddenly, the volume of the bar shot back to its usual level, leaving Rung wondering for a moment if he’d merely imagined it. But as he glanced over the room, looking for a quiet table, he saw Swerve’s helm shoot up. The bartender locked onto his gaze and ducked out from behind the bar, heading for him with a deep frown creasing his faceplates.

Rung met him halfway. “What’s the matter, Swerve?”

The minibot took hold of his hands and tugged him towards the back room. “There’s um. There’s something you need to know.”

“What is it? Is everything alright?”

Swerve didn’t answer until they were out of view of the main room, tucked away between the spare canisters of engex. Then he turned to Rung, chewing at his lip, and swallowed, hard. “Someone… well, someone sent, um, some pretty dirty pics around. To, uh, pretty much the whole ship, as far as I can tell. Anonymously, they used some kind of proxy. And--” He sighed. “Primus, there’s no good way to say this… they’re-- they’re of you.”

Rung’s lines went cold. “What?” he rasped. 

“They’re pretty-- pretty bad, Rung. I’m so sorry.”

“I’d like to see them,” he demanded quietly, still in shock. “Please.”

Wordlessly, Swerve fished out a datapad and pulled up the files before handing it off to Rung. There were three of them, each worse than the last.

The first showcased his pelvic plating. He almost didn’t recognize it as his own, but there was no other bot on the ship with that build, and after a moment of staring at it in shock, he couldn’t deny it. His modesty plating was retracted, and his valve had just begun to come online, biolights around the rim lighting up. The second had been taken a little later. The outer coverings of his valve were swollen and glistening with beads of lubricant; towards the top of the image, just visible, was the glow of his anterior node, a blue that matched his sparkglass. 

The third was… 

Rung had to completely reset his optics before it would process. The third was a video clip. The inner components of his valve spiralled down against empty space and his hips bucked up as the mech over him shifted back. Something had clearly just been removed from his valve, though it wasn’t obvious from the shot if that something was a spike or a toy or a pair of fingers. His leg had been tipped to the side, and the gape of his hip joint was just in frame. Visible flickers of charge scampered over the cables. His quiet moans formed the background for what was undoubtedly the main show. 

The mech purred. “Oh,  _ Rung…” _

His hips twitched up again in response.

It was fortunate that the video cut out there; Rung fully remembered an overload crashing through his systems right after that. His vents caught and his hands shook as he handed the datapad back to Swerve, who fumbled it, almost grabbing his hand instead of the pad.

“You didn’t-- know about this, did you?” the bartender asked quietly.

Rung slowly shook his head.

“Oh  _ slag…” _ He reached for Rung’s arm, seemed to think better of it, and pulled back. “Listen, I’m sure it’ll die down soon enough. Bots’ll lose interest fast, and everything’ll get back to normal before you know it.”

“Thank you.” It was the only thing he could force out, and his voice sounded rusted. “I’ll just-- go, I think--”

He took an unsteady step back and then another. Abruptly he pivoted and all but fled the back room as Swerve called his name behind him. Every inch of him hurt, with a numbness and lingering sense of betrayal that crept in strut-deep and threatened to drop him to his knees in the middle of the bar. Rung didn’t have to push past anyone; now that they all knew his name, they parted easily for him. 

Someone pinged him. The datapacket had a flirtatious subject line and Rung immediately trashed it, without bothering to check the sender. He didn’t want to know, didn’t want to confirm who’d seen that-- that  _ video. _ He ducked out into the hall, tears finally beginning to prick at his optics. Some part of him knew he was in shock, the part that wasn’t screaming and angry and crying. His spark ached, burning in time with his footsteps down the hall, footsteps that sped up until he was nearly running, racing away from Swerve’s and back towards his habsuite. He didn’t know where else to go. He’d counselled bots in the past in similar situations-- a partner had done it to get revenge, someone had been playing a nasty joke…

Now he couldn’t bring a single scrap of advice to mind, so he fled to what he had.

It was only once the door of his hab slid shut behind him, plunging him into darkness, that he realized his mistake. Rung sank back against the door, pressing both palms against it in a futile attempt to keep himself upright. With a painful screech of metal, his hands slipped, sending him crashing to the floor in a miserable heap. His engine hiccuped loudly, twice. Rung folded onto himself, keening as the severity of the situation fully set in. He tugged his glasses off, releasing the optical cleanser trapped behind them, and dropped them to the floor. How many times had he told his patients it was alright-- even healthy-- to cry?

“Oh  _ Primus… _ how could I have been so  _ stupid?” _ he moaned, voice muffled by the hand he rubbed over his face.

Silence answered him. 

Rung hugged his knees to his chest, rocking himself back into the door. The wheelpack gently clanked against it with each tiny movement; it echoed in the darkened, empty room. His engine hiccuped again as he finally lost control.

He sobbed, still desperately trying to keep quiet, biting down on his lip nearly hard enough to break through the metalmesh. A moment later, it ruptured under his denta with a quiet snap. He buried his face in his hands, binary whimpers bubbling up out of his vocalizer to match the energon welling from the broken lines in his lip. His shoulders heaved erratically, setting the wheelpack clattering against his back and the door. The darkness provided no comfort, only the stark reminder that he was very much alone. 

An alert popped up on his HUD: three new messages. He deleted them all the moment they registered. He felt sick; his tank was a nervous, nauseous mix of fear, pain, shame, and regret, and as the feeling grew, it forced him back to his feet. Rung staggered across the room, hands outstretched and fumbling for landmarks in the dark. His shin collided with the edge of the berth and he toppled forward, landing in the mess of blankets he’d left behind that morning. Lacking the energy to force himself back up, he hunched into a little ball, clutching desperately at the blankets and fighting back another round of tears that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment. One hand crept up, glancing over his plating until he had an arm wrapped securely around his torso, pressing down in the vague hope of creating some kind of comfort, some kind of false hug. It only made him feel sicker and he soon left off his efforts. He turned over, rolling the blankets up over himself, and felt something jab into his hip. When he reached down, he came up with the note the mech had left him. It was on, still displaying its message and he nearly hurled it against the wall. Instead he shoved it off the bed and let it clatter to the floor. It remained on, screen casting a fuzzy square of light against the ceiling, and after a moment it turned itself off.

A last malicious thought struck him, and despite himself, Rung laughed, a hollow, resentful sound. His face twisted into the bitter echo of a smile as his vents hitched with a painful clatter.

At least now everyone knew his name.


	2. Chapter 2

Swerve dusted down a last section of the bar, slung the cloth over his shoulder, and stepped back, hands resting on his hips. Almost ready to open and with plenty of time to spare. He leaned back against the bar, dug out a datapad, and clicked open his inbox, scrolling through to check for a confirmation from Ultra Magnus about an event he’d been planning. There was nothing from the security chief-- surprise, surprise, he reminded himself; the big mech had been even busier that usual with cleaning up after Froid and Sunder-- but there was one from Skids, inviting him to a game night with Nautica and a few others and promising it wouldn’t go as off-the-rails as the last one did.

Swerve agreed happily enough, with the condition that no one spilled good engex on him this time, and was about to put the datapad away when another message pinged in from an unknown sender. He clicked it open and nearly dropped the pad.

“Oh sweet--” He swallowed hard. “Wh--” 

His array noted the glistening valve and filed an immediate complaint about the lack of stimulation. Swerve shoved the pop-up off his HUD and dazedly clicked to the next file. Instead of the explanation he was hoping for, he found a second shot from a different angle. There was a lot more thigh in this one, and with a jolt, Swerve recognized the paint job.

He had to set the datapad down for a moment to focus on not melting out of his plating, venting deeply. “Okay,” he muttered, idly nodding. “Okay.”

After a few moments, he still hadn’t fully processed the fact that there were a pair of pics of Rung’s valve sitting in his inbox. Several of his systems were trying to convince him to forget about the ‘how’ and ‘why’ of the pics and focus on the ‘what.’ He ignored them and went back to the ‘why’ anyway. Sure, Swerve had tried to flirt a handful of times (with limited success), hoping to get the mech out and about a little more, but Rung was not on the list of bots he’d thought would reply like  _ that. _ It was confusing enough to get his array to settle down so he could focus.

Swerve picked the datapad back up, hoping for any indication of the sender’s ident code. Instead he found that the message had continued onto a video file. He glanced around, checking that he was alone, and clicked play with shaking hands.

He almost threw the datapad away from him, arousal killed beyond revival. There was no way Rung had sent those. No way would he have paraded around a significant other like that. Swerve sighed and shook his head, clicking off the datapad and stowing it back in his subspace. Those were problems for Future Swerve; Present Swerve had a bar to open and couldn’t be distracted by pesky things like dealing with emotions. 

Like a lot of things, it was not meant to be; his commlink buzzed almost immediately.

_ <Hey Swerve, got a minute? I’m headed your way, I wanted to ask you about something.> _

Swerve grinned. Thank you, distraction!  _ <Sure thing, Skids! I’m just setting up the bar, come on over.> _

The theoretician sent back a confirmation ping and walked through the door a few minutes later, looking antsy as all hell.

The bartender eyed him. “Damn, what’s eating you? Don’t tell me you lost another bet with Brainstorm.”

“No, nothing like that. It’s, uh…” Skids sighed and hooked a thumb at a barstool. “You mind if I, uh.”

“Nah, go for it.” Swerve pulled up one next to him and nudged him with his elbow. “C’mon, spill. What’s on your mind?”

“I just-- I just got this  _ thing, _ and I think it’s from Rung, but I… well, I really hope it’s  _ not, _ because it’s…” He sighed again and muttered, “I don’t know why I thought this would be easy to say.”

Fighting down the sinking feeling in his spark, Swerve offered up a guess. “Two pics and a vid?”

Skids shot him a look. “How’d you--” He slumped as realization set in. “Oh god.”

He nodded. “Yeah. About ten minutes ago?”

“Uh-huh.”

Swerve swallowed, hard. “What are the, uh. What d’you think are the chances we’re the only ones who’ve seen it?”

It took the theoretician a few tries before he got anything out. “Probably not great. Think he knows?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go with a soft ‘no’ on that one.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. Swerve shifted uncomfortably; the list of bots that deserved something like that was nonexistent, but Rung in particular was not on it. That such a violation had happened on the heels of his resignation made it that much worse. The minibot didn’t want to even think about who on the ship would have taken advantage of that; it made him sick. The knowledge that he’d been unintentionally complicit in it wasn’t helping matters. 

Eventually he felt compelled to break the silence. “Think anyone’s told Ultra Magnus?”

Skids shrugged one shoulder, rattling his doorwings. “He might have gotten it too. But I’ll let him know.”

The lapsed back into silence; Skids broke it a few minutes later. “Should we… talk to him?”

Swerve knew he didn’t mean Ultra Magnus. “Yeah, before-- I don’t know. Before anything else happens, I guess.”

“Should probably come from a friend, not a… patient, I guess.” The theoretician glanced expectantly at him.

He nodded. “I know what you mean. I’ll tell him.”

=========

Swerve didn’t have to wait long. He heard the silence that fell at Rung’s arrival even on the opposite side of the bar, and the confirmation that far too many bots had seen those pictures wiped everything he’d had in mind to say. He ducked out from behind the bar and flagged the little mech down.

Rung tipped his helm, instinctively reaching for the bartender’s arm to steady him. “What’s the matter, Swerve?”

The minibot took hold of his hands and tugged him into the back room behind the bar. “There’s um. There’s something you need to know.”

“What is it? Is everything alright?”

Swerve winced, but said nothing until they were out of sight. Chewing on his lip, he finally glanced back up at Rung. “Someone… well, someone sent, um, some pretty dirty pics around,” he started. “To, uh, pretty much the whole ship, as far as I can tell. Anonymously, they used some kind of proxy. And--” He swallowed. Now for the worst part. “Primus, there’s no good way to say this… they’re-- they’re of you.”

He heard the desperate whir of cooling fans clicking on and Rung rasped out some static. “What?”

“They’re pretty-- pretty bad, Rung.” He paused, fighting down the nausea that swirled through his tank. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’d like to see them,” Rung demanded, voice quiet and remarkably level. “Please.”

Silently, Swerve handed off the datapad and watched as a look of growing horror spread over the psych-bot’s face. The delicate tubes in his throat flexed erratically as he swiped to the second pic with a shaky hand. His face crumpled as he passed the point of disbelief and barreled directly into shock.

Behind his visor, Swerve offlined his optics when Rung clicked to the video. But he could still hear the way Rung’s vents hitched and the tiny pained whimper that slipped out when he realized just how bad the vid was. Hearing the thing secondhand was worse than Swerve had been expecting.

Rung handed the datapad back with shaky hands.

Swerve shoved it back into his subspace. “You didn’t-- know about this, did you?”

He shook his head, a jerky motion that Swerve almost missed.

The bartender swore quietly and reached out for Rung’s hand before realizing that it was probably the  _ last _ thing the bot would have wanted. His hand fell back to his side. “Uh-- listen, I’m sure it’ll die down soon enough,” Swerve rushed to assure him, even though he wasn’t sure he believed it. Even if the rumors were true and Rung  _ did _ have an attention deflector, it wouldn’t be enough to make people forget  _ this. _ “Bots’ll lose interest fast, and everything’ll get back to normal before you know it.”

Rung still sounded dazed when he replied and stiffer than ever, and Swerve felt his spark turn over in sympathetic pain. “Thank you. I’ll just-- go, I think--”

He took an unsteady step back, turned, and took off at a pace just slow enough to be considered a walk.

Swerve started after him, hand outstretched uselessly. “Rung, wait!”

The psych-bot ignored him, and by the time Swerve was out of the back room, he was almost to the door. The bartender let him go and started drafting a message.

_ If you wanna be alone right now, I get it, _ the message started.  _ But if there’s anything I can do, let me know, okay? I’ve got your back. _

He debated with himself whether that was enough-- it felt too simplistic, too generic. After a while he gave up on the idea of coming up with something better, packed it up, and sent it off to Rung. It went through, but there was no return ping, not even a notification that it had been seen.

Swerve did what he could to remain positive for the rest of the shift, but he was preoccupied with concern for Rung. He screwed up three orders in the space of thirty minutes, not that anyone noticed, and closed up early.

=========

When the night passed with no response to his message, Swerve was not surprised. When a day passed, he debated sending a second ping. The second day he grew worried.

Halfway through the third day he posted a notice that the bar would be closed for the rest of the day, mixed up a pair of cubes, and trotted off to Ultra Magnus’s office. He floundered for a moment outside the door before shuffling the cubes into his subspace. Venting deeply to steady himself, he tapped the commlink and waited the requisite minute for the security chief to respond.

“Come in, Swerve.”

The minibot frowned and pushed open the door. “Everything okay, Mags? You sound--” His gaze fell on the datapad on the edge of the desk Magnus was eyeing with discomfort. “Oh. So you got them too, huh?”

He froze. “What?”

“The pics, right?”

“Yes, I… We are in the process of looking into it and determining a course of action.” Magnus awkwardly cleared his throat. “Why did you want to meet with me?”

“What’s Rung’s room number? I wanted to bring him a little something, but then I realized I don’t know where he lives, so I was hoping you could hook me up with that.”

Ultra Magnus glanced back at the datapad with a look of resignation and swallowed hard. Silently, he turned to the terminal on his desk and keyed up the list of habsuite assignments. “Rung… he’s down on Level 7, room 118.”

“Thanks.” Swerve paused and gestured to the datapad. “You know he didn’t do this, right? Someone else sent those out.”

The security chief nodded. “I know. I’ll be investigating this to the fullest extent of my abilities.”

“He’ll… he’ll appreciate it, I think. Good luck.” He started to leave, glancing back one more time. “Hey-- can you, uh. Can you let me know if you find anything? About the uh, that.”

Another nod. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

“Thanks.”

Swerve felt like there should have been something else to say, but he couldn’t find it. Instead he left, making sure the door shut completely behind him.

=========

Swerve hadn’t realized just how far out of the way Rung’s hab was until he was on his way there. It didn’t take him long to leave the more active sectors of the ship and soon all he could hear was the quiet hum of the distant engines and the tap of his own feet against the floor. On level six, he finally encountered another bot, a tall green mech he didn’t recognize. The unfamiliar mech nodded a greeting to him and headed for the lift at the end of the hall. Aside from him and the infrequent soft bursts of noise carried through the vents, the ship seemed almost deserted. 

It echoed down there; at one point Swerve mistook the doubled steps for someone walking behind him, but when he glanced back there was no one there, and the extra footsteps stopped when he did. He turned, hugging himself, and headed down another level.

“How does he do it?” the minibot muttered. “I’ve only been down here five minutes and I’m already talking to myself! Give me the bar  _ any _ day.” He shook his head. “Focus, Swerve, focus! Okay, 120… 119… hey, 118.”

He stopped at the door and tapped at the commsuite outside Rung’s hab with shaky hands. “Hey, Doc? Rung? You in there? It’s me, uh. It’s Swerve.”

He felt a rustle around his internal comm, the faintest stirring of someone’s field inside the room.

_ <It’s open.> _

The door clicked and he palmed it open and stepped into the darkness. The tangle of blankets on the berth twitched when the light fell on it and Swerve quickly stepped inside and let the door shut. His foot knocked against something on the floor and he stooped to grab it, straightening up with Rung’s glasses in hand.

After a long moment of silence, he spoke. “We--” He sighed. “I wanted to check on you. You were really upset the last time-- not that I blame you,  _ Primus-- _ I just… wanted to see if you were okay.”

Rung didn’t respond and gave no indication he’d even heard him.

Swerve tried again. “Do you, um. Do you mind if I sit down?”

The blankets twitched up, clearing a spot on the end of the berth.  _ <Go ahead.> _

He cautiously sank down next to the huddle. “So… how  _ are _ you doing?”

A hand snaked out from under the blankets and tipped back and forth before retreating.  _ <I’ve been better.> _

Swerve fidgeted with the glasses, turning them over and over. The worried shine of his visor reflected dimly in the lenses. “Is there anything I can do?”

There was another long moment of silence. Finally, Rung spoke. His voice was heavy and bitter, rough and rusted like he hadn’t used it in a while. “Why are you  _ really _ here, Swerve?”

“Just wanted to check on you, make sure you were okay. You… deserve someone looking out for you, after all you’ve given the crew.”

Rung fell quiet again. Swerve heard the quiet, desperate whir of cooling fans clicking on. 

“I, uh. I think I kinda know how you feel?” he offered. “Uh-- that, that wasn’t supposed to be a question.”

The silence grew steely, though it seemed unintentional.

Swerve bit back a regretful moan and rushed to correct himself. “I meant-- it’s not easy being alone, ‘specially if you’re hurting. I… yeah.” He glanced down at his hands and turned the glasses over again before setting them on the side table. “Sorry.”

Rung’s field shifted immediately, going limp and almost wet with guilt. The blankets jerked as the little mech curled further in on himself.

The minibot rushed to fill the emptiness, nearly tripping over his words in his haste to distract Rung. “I, uh, brought you some fuel? I-I didn't know if you’d, uh, gotten any today, so I just… brought… some…” 

He trailed off with the lack of response; the gesture had only seemed to plunge Rung further into his despair.

“I-I’ll just leave-- this-- and get out of your wiring.”

Swerve offered up the cube and cautiously held it out to him. A hand emerged from the blankets and glanced over Swerve’s wrist, searching for the cube. He pressed it against the little mech’s questing fingers and made sure Rung had ahold of it before letting go. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice once again little more than a rusted whisper. He hesitated, seeming to measure his words. “Very kind of you.”

Swerve’s spark fluttered in a way he wasn't sure was appropriate, given the situation. “Nah, it’s no big deal,” he rushed out. “Just wanna make you happy, y’know how it is.”

The fans, which had slowed since they'd clicked on, now abruptly kicked back up. 

Swerve, oblivious to the words that had just exited his vocalizer, stopped short. “Hey, Rung? Buddy, you okay in there? Maybe you should come out for a bit, let your frame cool off? Don’t want you overheating or anything.”

Rung paused, hand still suspended, and slowly pushed the cube onto the side table. A moment later he forced himself up, blankets falling away from his frame.

Even though Swerve knew it wasn't likely, it looked like Rung’s paint had dulled since he’d last seen him. His spark was faint, contracted away deep in its casing. The poor mech looked strut-weary and even in the dim light, Swerve could tell that the slim bits of protoform beneath his optics were puffy and irritated. Those optics, usually so kind and gentle, now just looked destroyed, defeated in a way the minibot had never seen them look, and it was all he could do to keep from just pulling Rung into his arms then and there and assuring him over and over that things would be alright. 

Instead he scooted a little closer and tried a smile. “Hey, Rung? Listen, I… seriously, anything you need, anything at all, you can tell me, okay? You’ve always been there for the rest of the crew, so now it’s my turn to be here for you. I mean it-- anything you need, fuel, repaint, a really good datapad with a really bad joke, a friend, someone to talk to-- I got you covered.”

At the mention of ‘a friend,’ Rung’s chin began to tremble. Biting at his lip didn't help in the slightest, but he kept at it anyway. 

Swerve patted at his hand to draw his attention and stretched out an arm. “Hug?”

The little mech shrugged miserably and didn’t meet his optics. Swerve leaned in and tentatively looped an arm around him, visor bright with worry. He nudged him, trying to encourage him to move closer, and Rung fell forward onto him, clutching at his chestplates and pressing his cheek against his shoulder. His face and frame were cold. Swerve patted around on the berth behind him until he found a blanket and draped it around Rung’s skinny shoulders.

“There we go, nice and cozy. How’s that? You feeling okay?”

Rung sniffled, vents hitching.

Swerve smoothed a hand over his shoulder. “Yeah, I hear you. Huh-- hey, Rung, wanna try that cube? If you get a little something in your tank--" He paused to tap at the mech’s side. “You might feel a bit better.”

He glanced wordlessly up at the bartender, who grinned.

“Swervian therapy. Trust me-- I know what I’m talking about on this one.”

Rung leaned away from Swerve to fetch the cube off the side table. He was only gone for a moment, but his plating still felt cold where it pressed back against him. 

He frowned as he handed Rung a ridiculously curly straw. “How’s your heat reg doing, by the way? It feels like you’re running a little chilly.”

Rung slipped the straw into the cube and rested both in his lap, leaning away from Swerve and accidentally shrugging off the blanket. “It does?”

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to move!” he rushed to assure him, nearly sitting on his hands to keep from pulling Rung back against his chest and cuddling him away into the blankets. “You go on and snuggle up-- I mean, if you want to, of course-- don't mean to make you uncomfy--” Swerve sighed. “Or-- look, you can just forget I said anything, if you’d rather, that’s cool too!”

“Thank you,” Rung murmured. He sounded slightly overwhelmed and remained where he was. 

Swerve shifted back to give him a bit more space and looked away, fiddling with his hands. He’d have left, but he wanted to make sure that the little bot kept fueled at least enough to stay online, or give him the other cube if the first was a bust. If his glasses being on the floor was anything to go by, Rung hadn’t left the room since the incident in the bar, though Swerve suspected he hadn’t even moved since then, which probably meant he hadn’t fueled either. 

Rung sighed quietly and glanced down, considering the cube balanced on his leg. It glimmered in the faint light scattered by his retracted spark. He followed the loop of the absurd straw up and sipped hesitantly at it, ignoring the internal alert that told him his tank had been offlined. 

The cube was sweet, but not overwhelmingly so; it had been tempered by what felt like mica. It wasn’t a standard add-in; it was an acquired taste and one he doubted many bots on the ship had. Swerve must have picked it up on the last refuel stop, but there was no reason for him to have done so-- it likely wouldn’t sell. Rung glanced up and briefly met the bartender’s gaze. The realization hit when he noticed the worried anticipation written across the bot’s visor-- he was waiting to see if Rung liked the drink.

Swerve had ordered the mica… for  _ him. _

He rested the cube in his lap, tears threatening to overwhelm him once more. It was a fairly simple gesture, all things considered, but it meant that someone had paid attention to him and remembered something he couldn’t have said more than once or twice. A little shiver raced up his struts and his shoulders hitched forward. 

“Rung?” Swerve asked. “You okay?”

The little mech’s engine stuttered and Swerve folded him into a hug without thinking. Rung settled in against him, frame molding against his. The minibot was a welcome warmth against his chilled frame; his physical presence was even more welcome. Rung bit down on his lip, worrying it none too gently between his denta. Under the pressure, the seals in the lines threatened to break again and tiny beads of energon were already welling up. 

Swerve reached around him and snagged the blanket again, dragging it back up around his shoulders. He almost kissed him then, a little peck on the forehead, just enough to get him to uncrinkle the thin metal. They were so close… 

He pulled back and smiled. “How’s that? Comfy?”

Rung nodded idly and hunched in on himself, hand drifting up to his face to muffle a fresh round of crying.

Swerve caught it and intertwined their fingers, tugging their hands back down to his lap. His other hand settled in over the little mech’s backplates and began to rub, easing out the tension in his lines. “Let it out, yeah? It’s not engex, you can’t just bottle that stuff up and let it age.”

He almost laughed and a half smile flitted across his face. It was gone in a moment, and with it, the last of his composure. He twisted around to slump against Swerve, shoulders heaving with quiet sobs. The minibot held him close and let him cry, spark aching. Eventually Rung wore himself out, but he remained draped against Swerve, engine still hiccuping. 

When it slowed, Swerve finally spoke again. “What happened?”

Silence.

He stroked over his shoulder and down his arm to catch his hand and lace their fingers together again. “Rung, I just wanna help.”

After a long moment, he spoke. 

“He was kind,” Rung whispered, so quietly Swerve almost didn’t catch it.

“What was that?”

“He was kind,” he repeated. “He was so sweet, so… gentle. And I  _ fell _ for it.” He whimpered, tucking his helm down against Swerve’s shoulder. “I should have  _ known…”  _

“Hey, none of this was your fault,” Swerve reminded him. “You know that, right?”

Rung went quiet for a minute. When he continued, he was addressing Swerve’s chest and his voice was much steadier than before. “He approached me at the bar. He said he’d seen me there before, and he knew my name. We talked for a while, and… I brought him back here. We… interfaced, and when I woke up the next morning he was gone. He…” A waver crept back into his voice. “He left a note. It’s--” He gestured to the opposite side of the berth. “It’s over there somewhere, on the floor.”

Swerve squeezed his hand. “Did you get his name?”

He sniffled. “No, I… I forgot to ask.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“If he did, I don’t remember.”

“Okay.” Swerve pulled away for a moment to tuck the blanket more securely around him. “Do you remember what he looked like?”

Rung shrugged. “Average height, average build… might have been a grounder. No visible weaponry, but I wasn’t looking for it. Green base coat… and silver optics. That I’m certain of.”

“Last question, promise. Can I take this to Ultra Magnus?”

“I’m not sure how much good it’ll do, but…” He sighed heavily. “I don’t mind. Pass along whatever you like.”

“We’re gonna get to the bottom of it, okay? He’s not gonna get away with this.”

“Thank you,” Rung murmured, giving Swerve’s hand a tentative squeeze. “I… I appreciate it.”

They lapsed back into silence after that, with the minibot idly running a hand over Rung’s back. The psych-bot dozed off curled up against him, face pressed into the crook of his neck. It took a while for either of them to notice. 

“Rung, I-- huh?” Swerve glanced down at him. “Asleep, huh? Yeah, I don’t blame you. You’re probably all tuckered out after all that, aren’t you? I’ll get out of here and let you rest.”

He scooted back and slipped his hands under Rung’s side and helm, carefully lowering him to the berth. He slid off the berth and retrieved the empty cube, fishing a warming pad out of his subspace and setting it on the side table with a fresh cube and a straw. Swerve stepped back and went to work straightening out the tangle of blankets they’d created, tugging them back into place. After a moment’s hesitation, he leaned carefully over the little bot and pushed one of the spare pillows on the berth under the blankets with him, drawing it close against his back.

Swerve straightened up, pulled the blankets up to the mech’s chin, and absentmindedly leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Rest up, Rung. I’m only a comm away.”

He made a quick check to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything and slipped out of the room, gently sliding the door shut behind him and locking it.

Rung shifted, tiredly draping an arm over one of the pillows and tugging it closer. The pillow at his back wasn’t as warm as Swerve had been, but the support it provided was a comfort nonetheless. He leaned back against it, starting to drift back into a proper sleep.

For once, the dark room didn’t feel so lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, it's finally a second chapter! one more to go now! i don't want to say much about it (mostly because it's not even outlined) but i can promise that nothing too horrific happens from here.
> 
> this one was edited in a bit of rush, so please feel free to yell at me if you spot any glaring errors! and thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Level 7 still felt empty when Swerve left Rung. He was so lost in thought that he started off in the wrong direction, ending up in front of the psychiatrist’s office before he realized where he was. Somehow just standing in front of the room made the entire area feel even more deserted, and he didn’t linger long. Instead he headed back up to Ultra Magnus’s office. He almost forgot to knock.

The security chief looked up sharply when Swerve entered. “I thought you were talking with Rung.”

“I just left him, he’s resting,” Swerve rushed out. “But I have information.”

Magnus sighed. “Swerve, I--”

“No, listen! I talked to Rung.”

He stopped and gestured for him to continue.

“He said he remembered what happened, but he didn’t know the mech. It was…” He sighed. “It was someone he met at my bar. Green base coat, silver optics, average build, probably a grounder. Does that… does that help?”

The security chief keyed a few lines into a datapad. “It does, Swerve. What night was it?”

“Less…? I don’t know exactly, but it was less than a week ago.”

He nodded. “Please have the security footage from the bar for that time ready for review as soon as possible.”

Swerve gaped. “That-- that’s it? You’re only going to review the footage?”

“Right now, that’s all we can do,” Magnus replied firmly. “The description is helpful, but it isn’t much to go on, and with Rung’s… current situation, it may be inaccurate. Unfortunately, until I can get him here for a proper interview, it’s all I’ve got. So yes, I’m going to review the footage. And then I’m going to investigate any information I find.”

“I’m gonna help.”

“You… want to investigate.”

Swerve nodded emphatically. “Rung’s my… I don’t know, friend. I ha-- I want to help.”

“Well…” Ultra Magnus sighed. “There’s no regulation against it, so I can’t really stop you from looking into this on your own. But I would ask that you bring anything you might find to me before acting on it, starting with the tapes. Unified information will be more beneficial.”

“I will.” He stepped back from the desk. “And thanks. Y’know, for letting me help.”

“Just don’t get carried away,” he admonished. “Rung’s been through enough.”

“I know.” Swerve glanced down at his hands. “I know.”

Magnus nodded and the bartender took it as his cue to leave. He’d closed the bar, but he still headed that way; he’d keep the lights off and the quiet would lend itself to focusing on the tapes.

He hoped, anyway. Concern still swirled heavy around his spark, tinged with a dose of guilt. He’d been there that night, and hadn’t noticed Rung leave, alone or with anyone else. Much as he tried to ignore it, and even though he knew it wasn’t his fault, he still couldn’t help wondering if there was something he could have done to prevent it. Stopped by Rung’s table, maybe, or called him later that night--

But he hadn’t. And logically it wasn’t his fault, but the thought still hurt. He couldn’t change what had happened, but he could try to figure out why, and maybe stop it from happening again. The thought buoyed him, and he made it the bar with a slightly lighter spark than the one he’d left Magnus’s office with. 

He kept the doors of the bar closed to deter anyone who might wander in despite knowing the place was closed and activated the viewscreen under the bar. He clicked back through the footage to the night Rung had been there, clipped it, and packed it off to Magnus along with the footage from the night Rung had found out about the vid. Who knew, maybe the mech who’d done this to him had been there that night too.

With a heavy sigh, Swerve rewound the footage to the first time Rung had come in. He watched Ten greet the little mech, watched him startle at the recognition. Then  _ he’d _ called out to Rung, Rung had come over, he’d passed him a drink, and Rung had left for one of the back corners of the bar. Swerve tracked him across cameras until he abruptly lost him. It wasn’t that the feed cut out, it was that there wasn’t a feed to begin with. The cameras didn’t cover that angle.

Even so, he spent quite a while hopping from feed to feed, hoping for any glimpse of that distinctive orange plating even though he knew he wouldn’t find it. Rung had settled in one of the bar’s few blindspots. Swerve went back to the camera with the best angle and pressed play. 

Some time after Rung disappeared from the frame, a mech matching the description he’d given entered it. He didn’t linger long and headed for the same corner when he left. Swerve jabbed frantically at the vidscreen, causing it to flicker as he sought to rewind the tapes and track the mech.

Unfortunately, his attempts proved fruitless. At no point could he get a clear look at the mech’s face, and it didn’t seem as though he’d attracted much attention. Much like Rung, he seemed to drift about the bar, only lingering briefly at the edges of groups before moving on. At least, until he approached Rung.

Swerve couldn’t see either Rung or the unknown mech until they both left. It looked like they were holding hands, or at least were pressed close together as the green mech led them through the crowd. They spoke to no one, and more channel hopping produced the same result as before. Swerve still wasn’t able to get a look at his face. He sighed, propped his chin on his hand, and sent a comm to Ultra Magnus with what he’d found. He got a simple acknowledgement in response. 

With nothing more he could do, he packed a message off to Rung, pushed the viewscreen away, and left the bar.

=========

When Rung finally woke, it was to an alert blinking softly over his HUD. Still half in recharge, he activated it, revealing a message complete with a small smiling graphic.

“Hello! This is your personalized Swerve bot here with a message I totally did not write five minutes before I sent it to you. I hope you’re feeling better, but if not, that’s understandable! There’s some fuel on a warming pad on the table for you, and if that doesn’t do the trick, you can call me instead! I have to work at least half a shift tomorrow, but I can guarantee that your Swerve-bot will be there as soon as possible to do his best to cheer you up. After all, this personalized bot-friend is here to help!”

He pushed himself up with beads of cleanser pricking at his optics and a comfortable warmth bleeding through his lines. He glanced around with some degree of confusion at the pillows stacked around him before pushing the concern aside and reaching out towards the berthside table. He encountered first his glasses and beyond that the warming pad and its promised contents. The pad had long since switched itself off; it was meant for short-term use, and his recharge had apparently outlasted that. Rung gathered the cube and his glasses, balancing them both on his knee as he clicked on his internal chronometer. Suddenly the cold warming pad made sense; he’d been offline for an almost unreasonable amount of time.

The small noise of surprise that left him seemed to echo in the darkened room. He went back to the message in an attempt to distract himself. It hadn’t been vocalized, but it was almost as though he could hear Swerve speaking anyway, such was the gentle cheeriness of the strings of data. It was comforting.

With the cube emptied, Rung pushed himself up out of bed and went for the lights. He’d spent far too much of the last few days in darkness, and while he knew he wouldn’t be up to facing the rest of ship any time soon, he’d decided that the least he could do was stop existing like some kind of cave creature.

The lights, when they first cut on, hurt his optics and felt unnaturally bright, but dialing them back to their lowest setting produced something far more tolerable, and he could still see. Rung turned and took stock. Aside from the mess of blankets and the recently emptied cube, the room was almost stark in its neatness.

Actually, it _ was _ stark. The whole room felt cold and unfamiliar and it made him long for the quiet companionship Swerve had brought with him. Rung played the message back again and after a long moment decided he could probably manage to venture out if it was for something like that. After hours, of course. Once the bar closed. He checked his chrono again. It wasn’t too far off.

Until then… until then he had the message to provide a little company.

=========

It was as Swerve was cleaning up and closing down the bar that a slight shadow fell across the door. He turned, prepared to tell whoever it was that the bar was closed now and he wouldn’t be serving any more drinks that night, thank you very much. The words died in his intake when he realized the shadow belonged to Rung, and he rushed over with a wide grin firmly in place to usher the little mech inside. 

“Hey, good to see  _ you _ out and about again. Everything okay?”

“It’s… good to be out,” Rung replied quietly; his voice still sounded off, but it seemed to be from its recent infrequent use more than anything else. He smiled, shy and sweet, and all Swerve wanted to do was pull him into his arms and tell him how proud he was that he was out at all.

As Rung spoke, his fingers brushed against Swerve’s wrist.

The bartender took his hand and tugged him further into the room. “Did you get my message? And the fuel?”

“I did, thank you. It was very kind of you. And that’s actually why I’m here, I wanted to return this.” He offered up the warming pad.

Swerve took it, still smiling brightly. “Nah, it’s no big deal! You seemed like you needed it, and a friend in need, and all that.”

“Earth saying?”

“Yeah, ‘a friend in need is a friend indeed,’ and I’m not really sure what they’re trying to get at? But the point I was trying to make is that you’re my friend and I wanted to do what I can to help.” He squeezed the little mech’s hand and was rewarded with a small squeeze back.

Rung glanced down at their hands and back up to Swerve. “Have you spoken to Ultra Magnus?”

“Yeah, I did. He’s gonna review the security tapes from the bar, but… well, it’s not good news.”

“What do you mean?”

“D’you want to sit down?”

He tried to hide it, but the flash of fear in his face was undeniable. “Why, is it that bad?”

“No, no! It’s not-- it’s not  _ awful, _ I just figured I’d offer!” Swerve rushed out. “It’s, um, there’s not a clear shot of the mech. The cameras never caught his face.”

Rung’s shoulders slumped. “Oh. I see.”

“It’s not totally hopeless,” he promised. “We’ll find him. There’s only so many mechs on the ship, right? And we can rule a lot of them out, too. All your patients, for a start, you’d recognize them, right? So that cuts down what, like three quarters of the crew?”

He almost laughed at that. “It used to feel like it.”

“See, there’s still hope. Even if I’ve gotta question every single mech on this ship!”

“Are you heading the… investigation?” There was an odd stress on the word, like Rung didn’t think the situation merited its use, like he wasn’t worth it. Like he was already resigned to the outcome.

“Well, no, but I volunteered to help. ‘s the least I can do.”

He hesitated, surprise clearly written across his features. “I… thank you, Swerve. I truly appreciate that.”

“Hey, it’s not a big deal.” Swerve grinned lopsidedly. “What are friends for if not fighting to the death to restore each other’s honor?”

“Well, I don’t think you need to go that far--”

“Relax, Rung, I’m only teasing.” He gently pulled on their clasped hands and Rung instinctively shifted a little closer. Swerve’s grin grew and straightened out. “Hey, your plating looks a little brighter, that’s good! Hope it means you’re feeling better too.”

“I… I am, yes.” He smiled tiredly. “Thanks to you.”

“Aw, geez, I didn’t do  _ that _ much.”

“Perhaps not, but it certainly meant a lot.” Rung paused. “My apologies, you were trying to close up when I stopped by. Would you like a hand with that? I’d be happy to help.”

For a second, Swerve debated shooing him out to get more rest, but he recognized the particular kind of longing in Rung’s field. “Yeah, you know what? Sure. I’ve got it under control, but I wouldn’t mind the company. Grab a seat, we can just chat while I finish up.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.”

Swerve worked slower than he normally would have, drawing out his tasks to keep Rung company. They talked meaninglessly for a time, but eventually Swerve ran out of things to even pretend to do. 

“Well,” he started, wandering back over to Rung. “Looks like that’s everything. I’ll walk you back to your hab.”

Predictably, the slim mech protested. “Oh, you don’t need to trouble yourself, I know it’s out of the way--”

“Yeah, so do I. It’s okay, I don’t mind the walk. I’ve been stuck behind the bar all day.” He reached out a hand to help Rung to his feet, surprised at how natural it felt.

A sad little smile flitted across his face as he took it. “Thank you.”

The walked in relative silence the whole way back, their fingers loosely threaded together. It was a surprisingly comfortable quiet, one Swerve was reluctant to break when they finally reached Rung’s hab.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around. And hey-- comm me if you need anything, okay? My offers still stand.”

Rung smiled and dipped his helm. “I know. Thank you.”

Swerve almost hugged him. Instead he held himself back, gave him a little wave, and headed off.

=========

A week passed. Ultra Magnus found nothing in the tapes and it seemed like the mech didn’t exist in the ship’s records. Swerve, despite his promises, had nearly given up hope of finding  _ anything _ when Ten ambled into the bar one day well before opening.

“Hey, Ten,” he greeted the massive bot idly. “What are you doing here? You don’t have to be in until later.”

The former Legislator carefully placed a datapad suited for art on the bar. “Ten.”

“What’s this?”

“Ten!” he repeated, more urgently.

“Okay, okay, I hear you.” Swerve switched on the datapad. Immediately his mouth fell open. There, neatly depicted, was the green mech. With a sickening jolt, he recognized him as the mech he’d passed in the hall on his way to Rung’s the first time.

Ten leaned over the bar and clicked to the next picture, a close-up of the mech’s face-- with particular attention to his odd silver optics. “Ten.”

“You saw them,” Swerve realized. “You saw them leave-- they went right past you!”   


The big bot nodded.

“Can you-- can you take this to Ultra Magnus? Can you go show this to Ultra Magnus right now because I’ve gotta go tell Rung and--” His optics clicked wide behind his visor. “I’ve gotta tell  _ Rung.” _

He was vaguely aware of Ten agreeing before he rushed out from behind the bar to hug him as best he could, catching him around the leg. “Thank you  _ so _ much, Ten.”

Swerve went tearing off, heading for Rung’s hab without even bothering to check if the little mech was there; he was too excited to think clearly. He slowed to a walk outside his door and frantically commed him.

Rung stepped out a moment later. “Swerve? What’s the matter?”

“We found him!” Swerve burst out, only barely not interrupting him. “Ten remembered you leaving with him and he  _ drew _ him, he remembered what he looked like and it doesn’t matter that he not in the vids because this is better and we’ve got him, we know exactly what he looks like and Ultra Magnus is gonna match it to a name and--” He stopped to vent heavily. “And I told you we were gonna get him and you’re never gonna have to worry about him again, promise. Everyone’s gonna know his name and what he did.”

The slim mech seemed to freeze up.

“Rung?”

He stumbled forward, wrapping his arms around the stocky minibot, and even though Swerve couldn’t see it, he knew Rung was crying by the way he trembled in his arms, but his field spoke of his joy and relief.

“Thank you,” he sobbed out. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the end of it! thanks for sticking around, and sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out! to be honest, i forgot i was supposed to be working on it for a while.
> 
> @starscrearn on twitter if you wanna hit me up!


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